


21st Century Breakdown

by Awesomecake



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Slash, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesomecake/pseuds/Awesomecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week or so after the Battle of New York, Brock Rumlow becomes the first person in the 21st century to give Steve Rogers a proper hug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	21st Century Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Title by Green Day. The WIP title was just "First Hug", I feel this one is at least marginally better.

”Now this,” Fury said as he pushed a pair of white double doors open, ”is the main gym of the STRIKE unit. As you can see, we've come a long way since the days of callisthenics.”

Steve's first thought was that the huge, bright room beyond the doors was full of torture devices. White, gleaming torture devices, with dark blue leather upholstery and black weights. Everything in the room was perfectly clean, there were no missed flecks or spatters of blood anywhere, as you might see in an actual torture chamber ( _and he'd seen a few too many of those_ ), but it was all still vaguely sinister. Especially since he couldn't figure out what even half of the machines were for. 

There was only one person currently using the gym, and he was in the back of the room, throwing vicious punches at a comfortably familiar punching bag. He looked up as they entered the room, but didn't stop punching away until Fury introduced him. 

”Just the man I wanted you to meet. Steve Rogers, this is Brock Rumlow, head of the STRIKE unit, mean bass player, and all-round badass. He's also won the in-house barbecue championship three years in a row.”

Brock Rumlow walked towards them, and every neuron in Steve's brain screamed _predator, bully, danger_. Steve had once seen a starving tiger in an abandoned zoo in France, and this man moved just like it: gracefully, seemingly at ease, but constantly calculating, always perfectly aware of his surroundings – and with a confident look in his eye, like he knew exactly how to kill anyone standing in his way with as little effort as possible.

If Steve had still been a little guy he would definitely have hesitated before picking a fight with this man.

”Captain America, what an honour.” Rumlow extended his hand, and there was nothing sinister or predatory about his smile, it was all real. His eyes were black, but there was a softness to them, a kind of understanding. Steve shook his hand.

”Call me Steve, please. Captain America is my poster name, and people just start giggling if they call me Mr Rogers, for reasons I haven't figured out yet.”

”Just google for 'Mr Rogers', I think you'll approve,” said Fury. ”And now I'm gonna leave you two to get acquainted, which you better do quickly, since you'll be working together from now on. I trust you'll find your way back to your quarters afterwards, Cap?”

”Got the route memorised, sir.”

”Of course you do. All right then, Cap, Rumlow, good night.”

”Good night, sir,” Steve and Rumlow said, in unison. They watched Fury leave before turning back to face each other. Rumlow shook his head, smiling incredulously.

”Can't believe you got a tour of the Triskelion from Fury himself! The guy must have a sweet spot the size of Texas for you.”

”Yeah, it's almost like I'm kind of a big deal or something, rather than just a 10% jump in bond sales.”  
Rumlow barked out a laughter, and it hit Steve like a stab to the gut. That was the same way Bucky would have reacted to Steve being a cocky little shit. So far, most people in this century had just give him uncertain smiles or blank looks whenever he'd tried for funny. 

”You know, when people started talking about putting you in my unit I went and got my hands on every biography, documentary, and news article I could find, just to get a feel for whom I'd be dealing with. And I can already tell I was wasting my time, 'cause not a single one of them even mentioned you having a sense of humour.”

”Is that so?”

”That is so. They all said you were a great fighter, though.”

Rumlow started moving towards a boxing ring in the corner of the gym, next to a panorama window overlooking the Potomac. Steve followed.

”Well, I've won just about every fight I've been in since I got serumed-up, so, yeah, I'm pretty good.”

( _He wasn't going to think of the one fight he'd most definitely lost, he just wasn't._ )

”Yeah. Thing is, I saw the footage from New York. You've got the strength, and the speed, and some decent moves, but your fighting style as a whole... It's not terribly refined. At least not by today's standards. It's pretty efficient against, say, untrained Nazi goons, or aliens that have never fought humans before, but believe me, in this world there are ninety pound martial arts champions who could take you down, and I'm not gonna have that happen on my watch.”

Rumlow climbed into the ring, gesturing for Steve to get his hands wrapped and join him. Steve did so, feeling slightly apprehensive. He'd never really sparred with anyone since the serum, not in a meaningful way. He'd always had to hold his punches, to move slower than he could, just to give his opponent a chance to defend. Destroying HYDRA bases had been his real workouts, and even then he'd held back, or he would've finished every one of the missions with hands covered in blood and brain matter. 

Rumlow was gesturing for him to come at him, but Steve stayed where he was.

”Now, without hesitating, I want you to hit me. As hard or soft as you like, I can take it. Just try to land a punch on me.”

Steve stayed perfectly still for a few seconds, then he sprung forward, feinting with his right fist and hitting with his left – except he didn't hit anything. Instead it was Rumlow who hit him with a sharp jab to his ribs, coming from a completely different direction than he'd been in just half a second before.

”Like I said, _try_ to land a punch on me.”

Steve spun around, fists up, and was met with a face-full of sneaker. He staggered sideways, more taken aback by Rumlow's almost balletic agility than the split lip he'd just received. 

”I know you can do better than this, come on! Fight me!” 

Steve went all in, punching and feinting and dodging, then kicking, leaping, and rolling when Rumlow made it clear that was in the cards as well. He landed a few blows, but they were glancing at best. In the meantime his own body was getting increasingly bruised and bloodied, hit with increasing frequency by Rumlow's fists, feet, knees, elbows, and head. He was, without a doubt, the most skilled fighter Steve had ever encountered, and it pissed him off a great deal to be shown up like this. 

”You telegraph your every move from two counties over! Don't think, just hit!”

He tried to move even faster, to copy Rumlow's way of using every part of his body as a weapon, and to strike even when he was off-balance – and it worked. He landed a few solid punches to Rumlow's torso, hard enough to crack ribs. Rumlow wasn't to be deterred, though. He gave a feral grin, dodged a swinging fist followed by a kick that would've done some serious damage to his face, and then he kicked Steve right in the nuts. 

Steve went down in a world of pain, and the fight was over. Rumlow crouched down next to him. After a few seconds he reached out and, with surprising gentleness, wiped some of the blood away from Steve's chin. 

”You've got a lot to learn, young grasshopper. Lesson one: there's no room for being a gentleman when an evenly matched or superior opponent is trying to do you in. You just take them down, any way you can.”

”That's _cheating_.”

”That's surviving. Believe me, there are people out there who'll do a lot worse to you if you let them. Can you stand up?”

”Yeah, yeah...” Steve got up, gingerly, swaying a little as a wave of nauseating pain rolled out from his groin.

”Man, healing factors sure are useful. Most guys wouldn't be getting up for another ten minutes or so.”

”It has it's perks,” Steve groaned. He looked at Rumlow, who was still breathing hard and sweating quite a lot, but not looking any worse for wear.

”How 'bout you? You augmented in some way?”

”Nah, I was just made to be a fighter, you know? My body learns things faster than my head does, and pain... It's probably a bit fucked up, I admit, but pain feels good to me. At least the pain that comes from cuts and bruises; I had some bad chimichangas a few weeks ago and the stomach-ache made me want to drown myself in the toilet.” 

”Right.” Steve mentally added ”chimichangas”, whatever they were, to the list of things to _not_ try. 

”The thing is, a fighter is only as good as his body, and _you_ , sir, you have the best damn body on the planet, if you don't mind me saying so. We're gonna get you into all the fun stuff, like krav maga, jiu-jitsu, capoeira, a bit of parkour, whatever might come in handy. Plus you've got your own thing with the shield, which I can't wait to see in person.”

”Right...” Steve said again. A suffocating cloud of greyness was starting to fill his mind, like it had done a few times since he woke up in the wrong century. _This is it_ , whispered the greyness. _Erskine made you a weapon for the War, and now the War's long past, but you are still a weapon. The world has no use for you unless you fulfil your function. No one is waiting for you to come home, you are the Soldier whose War will never end._

”Steve? Come on, snap out of it. Steve!”

Steve blinked. Rumlow was standing right in front of him, cradling his face with calloused but gentle hands, looking at him with worried eyes.

”Sorry, I must've drifted away for a bit. What did I miss?”

Rumlow let his hands drop to Steve's shoulders, but his eyes remained concerned.

”I should've realised. How old are you?”

”What? Ninety, something. I think it was ninety-four.”

”I mean your actual age, not counting the years in the ice.”

”Twenty-six.”

Rumlow sighed, shaking his head slowly, sadly.

”Just a kid. Just a kid who went to war, and never made it back.”

Something snapped in Steve's chest, making him feel like he was about to have an asthma attack. He leaned into Rumlow's hands, and then the words came tumbling out, unbidden. 

”I was supposed to have died. I was ready for it, when I went down. And then I woke up to space gods and aliens fighting in a New York that's barely recognisable, in a world where everybody looks at me like I'm this _icon_ , a symbol of 'traditional values', whatever the hell they are, and a more 'innocent time', as if the War was won with a god-damned lindy hop competition. And I never asked for any of it. I never wanted to be Captain America, I just wanted to do my part as a soldier, like anybody else, and then go back home when I was done. And now I can't. I just – I _can't_.”

Steve hung his head, embarrassed and uncomfortable with his own outburst, but Rumlow didn't chide or tease him for it. Instead he embraced him, pulling him close like a brother, rather than a stranger he'd met less than fifteen minutes ago. 

It was the first time in this new century that anybody had given Steve a proper hug. Hell, the last time anybody at all had held him like this, it had been Bucky...

Steve cried. Full-bodied sobs ripped their way out of his chest, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Before now he'd been too occupied with the thought of destroying HYDRA to really give in to his own grief, and then he'd woken up in a world where people had learned about the death of the brave Sergeant Bucky Barnes in school when they were kids, and thus didn't realise that for him it was mere weeks ago. But now HYDRA were long gone, and so at last was the source of their power, the Tesseract. And so the time had finally come for Steve Rogers to cry. 

Rumlow stroked his neck and whispered soothing nonsense in his ear, proving himself infinitely gentle despite his dangerous appearance. He let Steve take his time, without giving any sign of impatience, and Steve couldn't be more grateful. As his sobs slowly abated he found himself paying more attention to the feel of Rumlow's firm body against his, and the way his lips brushed against the skin just below his left ear. And his scent, all warm skin and fresh sweat, clean and natural without any cologne to muddle it up. He found that he didn't really want to let go, and that was when he did.

”Thank you.”

”No problem. Has anybody talked to you about PTSD?”

”What's that?”

”Something somebody should've talked to you about the moment you woke up, except that everybody's a bit stupid about you and apparently think you're invincible in every way, even though you're clearly not. I'll get you a meeting with Dr Zethraeus, she knows all there is to know about emotions, and how to deal with them when they become too much.”

”Thanks, but I think I can get by on my own.”

”Steve. Please, just listen – _you don't have to_. Half the kids your age are veterans who have all seen just a bit too much shit to be truly joyful about things, even when they come home for good. You are not alone, and maybe it wasn't in the Forties but these days it's okay to talk about things that are hurting, even when it's your own soul. And besides, you gonna be on my team, I'm gonna want you to be content. Okay?”

Steve managed a smile. It was a weak one, but it was there – and it was true.

”Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> It is my headcanon that Rumlow wanted Steve to join HYDRA, since that would've been a much bigger victory than just killing him.


End file.
